


in the rain on a bridge

by The Master of the Deck (officiumdefunctorum)



Series: on wednesdays we whump [4]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Homecoming, Mat Cauthon Is A Good Bro, Mat Cauthon Is A Mess, Men Crying, Pansexual Mat Cauthon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rain, Rand a'Thor Needs A Hug, Unbeta'd, War, We Die Like Men, at least in this universe he is, gosh I use that tag a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23319022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiumdefunctorum/pseuds/The%20Master%20of%20the%20Deck
Summary: Mat picks Rand up from the airport after four years away.
Relationships: Rand al'Thor & Mat Cauthon
Series: on wednesdays we whump [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661389
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	in the rain on a bridge

**Author's Note:**

> The first installment of a WoT Modern AU Fusion.
> 
> (Created as part of the "On Wednesdays We Whump" for WoT Trash discord. Invite at the end!)

Four years.

It had been four years since Mat had stood in this exact airport and watched Rand leave for his first tour. Aside from a handful of letters, some staticky phone calls, and one failed attempt at a video chat, Mat hadn’t seen his best friend in four years.

Hell, Mat hadn’t even _heard_ from Rand in almost eight months. Tam had told him how it was in the Borderlands, the uncertainty and the secrecy, but they had both spent more than one night over the past year blitzed out of their minds on the Cauthon Farm doing their best not to fall apart.

Of course, Mat had fallen apart far away from home, and from Rand.

 _Four years,_ thought Mat. _How could so much change in just four years?_

“Iced Americano, with, like, two extra shots of espresso, please,” he said, and checked his watch for the thirtieth time in five minutes.

The barista gave him a judgmental look. Mat gave not a single fuck.

Caffeine or benzos had been today’s Catch 22. Light, he hadn’t slept last night because he was too anxious, and now he needed to be awake. What a shit choice. More stimulants probably weren’t a great idea, but he had a long drive ahead of him, so, anxiety it was.

So, maybe he was a little nervous. _A lot_ nervous.

Mat paced while the barista got his order ready—the third one he’d had since getting here, not counting the bagel he’d scarfed down when he arrived two hours earlier—and tried not to feel like an expectant husband, or whatever.

Rand was coming home. _Light_ , but he was coming _home_.

Stopping in place, Mat bent over, hands on his thighs, and quietly panicked.

_He’ll have grown out of being your friend, you’re a mess, you didn’t tell him you dropped out of college, you didn’t tell him about Egwene leaving, he’s going to look at you and think you’re a sellout._

“Hey, uh, are you okay, dude?”

Mat bolted upright, inhaling through his nose and shaking out his hands.

“Yep, fine,” he lied, steadying his breathing as he eyed the barista holding out his drink. Not too tall, pleasantly rounded, great ass, dark brown eyes. Eyebrow piercing, _nice_.

“Thanks, Kevin,” he said, and gave the man a slightly manic grin.

Kevin smiled nervously back at him and fled back behind the counter.

Mat dropped his grin and ditched the lid and straw in the recycling, already draining the cup.

_“Flight Three Thirty-seven, Fal Dara to Whitebridge, now disembarking.”_

Mat choked.

Wheezing, he abandoned the remains of his drink in the trash and practically ran for the gate. A small throng of other people, a few holding ‘welcome home’ signs, or flowers, or pushing strollers were also waiting there, and Mat immediately felt like a heel.

Fuck. He hadn’t gotten Rand anything. Should he have hired a limo? No, that was ridiculous. The drive to the Two Rivers was three hours long. nobody wanted to sit in a limo for three hours.

After a few minutes, the first figures in the odd camouflage of the Blight started appearing in the exit tunnel. Soldier after soldier emerged, reuniting with families or making their way to the exit, and after ten minutes, Mat started panicking in earnest. Where was _Rand?_

By the time Mat got around to wondering if he should have picked up a stuffed sheep in the gift shop, or maybe he’d come for the wrong flight, or there had been some terrible mistake and Rand wasn’t coming home after all... there he was.

Last out of the tunnel and a head above the rest of the people in uniform, Mat would know that red haired motherfucker anywhere.

A fist closed around Mat’s chest, and his knees felt weak. His eyes stung and he brought his fist to his mouth to stifle whatever it was that wanted to come bursting out of him. It must not have worked, because the old woman standing next to him at the edge of the roped off area patted his shoulder.

“First time?” She asked, and Mat couldn’t bring himself to speak. He just nodded.

“It never gets easier,” she said, and walked to meet a young woman who had started running at the sight of her.

Rand had only just reached the bottom of the ramp, walking slowly, and he was looking down at his _feet_ , of all fucking things, and Mat couldn’t stop _staring_ at him. He gasped in a breath of air and dashed a hand across his eyes, trying to compose himself. He ran a hand through his hair, startling himself when his sunglasses clattered to the floor.

“Fuck,” Mat swore, he’d forgotten they were there. He took his eyes off of Rand and bent to pick them up.

When he stood up again, Rand had stopped walking. His bag lay at his feet, and he was staring right at Mat.

Their eyes met.

_Fuck waiting._

Mat dropped his sunglasses and vaulted the rope.

He ran, closing the distance between them in seconds—Light, Mat wanted to pick Rand up and shout, to hug him, to laugh, he—

Wait. There was—a cast? No.

Mat slowed. Something was... wrong. Maybe three feet separated them when Mat just—stopped.

Rand was pale. Not winter pale, but _corpse_ pale. His freckles were gone, his eyes sunken, and he looked _gaunt_. There were— _fuck_ , there were _bandages_ on his hands. His right foot was in some kind of walking cast, concealed beneath a loose uniform, but now visible.

No wonder he had been moving so slowly. Blood and bloody ashes, what had _happened?_

Realizing he was staring, Mat mentally slapped himself, and met Rand’s eyes again.

Wide and gray; dazed. _Old._ But still Rand’s.

 _He’s alive, and he’s_ here. _Thank the Light._

Mat probably shouldn’t have been worried about staring, though, because Rand was staring, too. Staring at Mat like... hell, like he hadn’t seen him in years. More than that, Rand looked at him with something like wonder.

“Hi,” Mat rasped out, and knew his face was doing the blotchy thing it did when he got worked up.

“Hi,” said Rand, and his voice was quiet, a little raspy, too. A small smile formed on Rand’s lips, a familiar, tiny thing, but it _transformed_ him.

Light, but Mat had missed that smile.

“I’m, uh,” Mat cleared his throat, his own smile threatening to split his face in spite of his worry. “I’m gonna embarrass you in front of all these people and hug you now, okay?”

“Okay,” said Rand, voice still quiet, aged gray eyes still wide.

With an instinct born of too many years knowing Rand for any rational thought to bother making itself known, Mat wrapped his arms gently, _so_ gently, around Rand, and lay his head against that broad chest, reveling in the sound of a fast beating heart and shallow breaths.

He felt Rand’s arms come around him, his bandaged hands lying tentatively on Mat’s back and shoulders.

They stood like that for what might have been one minute or ten. Rand trembled, slightly, his cheek resting atop Mat’s head, and Mat was never letting Rand go _ever again_. He would handcuff himself to Rand in protest if he even _thought_ about it.

Finally, they stepped apart, both of them wiping at their faces.

“Light, we are _so gay_ right now,” said Mat, sniffling.

“Mat, you _are_ gay,” answered Rand, bending down gingerly to get his duffel bag.

“Pansexual, there’s a difference,” he said— _Light, had he told Rand about that?_ “Also, fuck yourself. You’re hurt, you asshole! Give me that thing.”

Rand didn’t protest when Mat snatched the bag away from him before he could do more than collect the strap, and held his silence while Mat babbled.

They made their way slowly away from the gate, Mat stealing glances at Rand and trying to catch at winces or hints at where he was hurt. Rand was stoic and stubborn, like his dad, and would try to tell Mat that a partially severed finger was no big deal—Mat knew, because he’d _done that exact thing_ when they were thirteen—so he scrutinized every movement.

Something was wrong with his... everything. He moved deliberately, like he was making his way through water. Like he was in _pain_ , but so diffuse that it didn’t matter if he limped or just walked.

Inside, Mat wanted to howl and find whoever had done this, find his commanding officers who had let this happen, and tear them to shreds.

They passed by the coffee kiosk and Mat paused.

“Are you hungry? Do you want any like, coffee or that weird tea you like?” Asked Mat, ready to buy out the pastry case if need be.

“No,” Rand shook his head, a small grimace twisting his mouth. “I just... want to go home,” he said, voice still that same low, quiet tenor it had always been. But—so _quiet_ , vague, almost dreamlike.

“Then let’s go home,” said Mat, slipping his arm through Rand’s elbow, and saying nothing when Rand leaned his weight on Mat—just a little—as they made their way through Whitebridge Airport at nine in the morning on a Tuesday.

The valet was taking its sweet time getting Mat’s car, and he didn’t miss that a light sheen of sweat had broken out on Rand’s brow as they stood at the curb.

“Hey,” he said, going for casual. “Do you want to sit down? I’m sure it’ll be a while before they get my car.”

“I’m fine,” said Rand, looking up through the panes of glass, eyes following the various aircraft as they came in and out of the airspace.

“Are you sure?” Asked Mat, resting a hand on Rand’s elbow, seeing a light tremble in his limbs. “We can—”

“I said I’m fine,” snapped Rand, and Mat recoiled, eyes wide. Rand seemed to shrink in on himself, closing his eyes and turning away his head. “I’m fine,” he repeated, his voice quiet, once more.

Mat didn’t say anything, just watched Rand like he might fall over as they waited for the valet in silence.

* * *

The silence was making Mat anxious. _More_ anxious.

Given that, on most days, Mat had enough spare anxiety to probably run he and Nynaeve’s apartment if it could be channeled into hamsters on wheels, this wasn’t really a good thing.

 _Fuck_ , maybe he shouldn’t have had added the shots of espresso in that last drink.

“Are you, um,” Mat finally said, when they were stopped at an intersection leading out of the city. “Are you okay?”

Rand shifted his hands so the bandages were concealed in the folds of the jacket on his lap.

“Fine,” he answered like before, his voice quiet. Small.

 _Small_.

Nothing about Rand had ever seemed small, before. It wasn’t a word he would have used to describe anything about his friend. Soft, maybe. Rand’s voice was often soft, different from Perrin, who tried to make his entire person smaller—and failed spectacularly—but never _small_.

Something about Rand didn’t want to take up space. Bashful in that cute, dorky way he had. But he hadn’t ever tried to _hide_.

Rand was hiding, now. He was covering himself up, literally, and it made Mat want to pull over and demand to know who had hurt him so he could call up Nynaeve’s boyfriend and have them assassinated.

But _Mat_ had hid, too, and his therapist had had a lot to say about giving people space, so he didn’t call Rand on it. Yet.

“How was your flight?” He asked instead, hating this small talk to his bones.

“Long,” sighed Rand. “I mean, actual airtime was maybe a few hours, but you wouldn’t believe how many transfers and baggage checks there are between here and Fal Dara. They don’t—they don’t like to put us on commercial flights. The train would have been faster, but...”

They both grimaced simultaneously at that. The Ways were not to be trusted.

“I’d walk, first,” said Mat.

“Yeah,” laughed Rand, if absently, and Mat thrilled at the sound. “Yeah, me too.”

“Sorry Tam couldn’t be here,” said Mat, after a few minutes in silence. “He really wanted to be, but there was an issue with the foaling, and Perrin was tied up with an emergency, so,” Mat shrugged, pulling his car forward to the on ramp.

“I’m glad he stayed,” said Rand, still quiet. “One of Bela’s?”

“Another grand foal for the herd,” announced Mat. “I swear, if people gave prizes for good looking horses that could pull a motor home, she and all her progeny would win.”

Huffing a laugh, Mat caught Rand looking out the window. It didn’t escape him that all this time Rand had been looking up at the sky, and not out at the buildings or the scenery.

The road stretched in front of them, traffic minimal in the late morning. Fuck, if he was going to own an expensive car, he might as take advantage of it. Feeling mischievous, Mat hit some buttons on the dash, and looked over at Rand.

“You attached to that hat?” He asked.

Rand looked over at him, and then up toward the beret perched on his head.

“Not... particularly,” he said, eyeing Mat with wary confusion.

“Good,” he said, and hit a switch next to the steering wheel.

With a whirl of mechanics, the roof began to pull back, and the roar of the wind as Mat’s Domani Razor convertible sped down the road filled their ears.

Grinning, Mat looked over at Rand just in time to see the beret go flying off of his head. Rand didn’t even notice, his eyes turned up to the sky, lips parted in wonder. While it made something in Mat twinge—the part of him that knew something was very wrong—the greater part of him was just happy to see Rand looking _alive_. 

The Two Rivers was three hours away, and Mat intended to make it a good homecoming. So far, he thought he was off to an okay start.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Asked Mat.

“I can’t believe you got a convertible. _Light_ , Mat, how much did this thing cost?” Shouted Rand, running a hand along the dashboard and inspecting the GPS, seeming to forget about his bandaged fingers.

Shrugging, Mat gave him a quick, lopsided smile.

“Won it in a poker game,” he said.

Rand snorted, sitting back and tilting his face up into the wind.

Unfortunately, it started to rain about an hour into their drive, so Mat had to put the top back up.

“Sorry,” said Mat. “Expensive doesn’t mean waterproof.”

Rand mumbled something in response and shifted in his seat. Sensing his friend’s evident exhaustion, Mat turned on a random podcast and, like a lullaby of mundane sound, the rushing wind and the engine had Rand nodding off to sleep almost immediately. When it had been quiet in the car for a few minutes but for the low murmur of the podcast Mat had on, he looked over to see Rand passed out, his head pillowed on his jacket in the plush leather of the seat.

Blood and ashes, but he looked _terrible_. Mat wanted to study his face with impunity, but of all the ways Mat was a fuckup, driving recklessly wasn’t one of them. Quick glances showed him the hollows of Rand’s cheeks, cast in shadow by the diffuse light of rain at midday.

When Rand had left, he’d been thick with the muscle he’d gained during his training. Tall and lean, he’d looked like one of the Aiel Warriors out of legend. A veiled terror coming out of the Waste in search for King Leman.

But Rand had been going to the Blight. Light, how they’d argued about it. How he and _Tam_ had argued about it. Mat had been so terrified of losing him, and now Rand was back. He finally had Rand _back_ , after too many nights getting drunk and throwing his terror at Nynaeve until she had to force burritos into him so he would shut up and let her study.

But in his tired face and distracted eyes, it was like a part of Rand was still on the plane, or back in the Blight. Mat wondered how many pieces of Rand were scattered in the blasted lands north of Shienar.

Mat’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he forced himself not to stare at Rand’s bandaged left hand where it lay on his lap, or the lingering yellow of bruising visible below his collar. _Later_. They would talk later.

They had just passed Taren Ferry, and the rain had become a storm in earnest. Lightning flashed in the sky as Mat made his way over the bridge that spanned the Taren, and thunder cracked the air.

Rand made a sound. A small sound, like a whimper

 _Watch the road_ , Mat told himself, feeling something like helpless rage well up in him.

The rain fell hard on the windshield, and Mat turned the wipers faster as he slowed down. Beneath the noise of rain and machinery, Rand gasped, and whimpered again.

“Rand?” Mat spoke quietly, unable to listen and do nothing. “Rand, are you awake?”

Next to him, Rand twitched, and then jerked violently in his seat.

Mat swore, his hands jumping on the steering wheel, then reached over and grasped Rand’s shoulder, trying to watch the road and his friend in turn.

“Rand, buddy, wake up. It’s just a—”

At the touch, Rand _screamed_.

He screamed like Mat had burned him with molten metal, and then he _kept_ screaming. Rand screamed, and he thrashed. Like the seatbelt was a vice, Rand grappled with it. Shouting and digging at it with bandaged hands.

Mat didn’t know what had happened to Rand’s hands, but he was pretty sure the way Rand was clawing at the strap across his chest was _not_ going to be good for them.

Lightning flashed in the sky, blinding in its sheer brightness, and a flailing arm tossed Mat off of him, jostling the wheel. Mat swore again as the lights on the dash flickered off and then on again, the car swerving dangerously. Thunder cracked the air as they nearly hit the guard rail, and Mat slammed on the brakes. The car hydroplaned for a terrifying moment in the downpour before the wheels caught traction and slid to a stop, nearly sideways on the bridge.

The jolt of the car coming to a halt brought Rand out of it all at once, and he sat there, gasping.

Mat, too, breathed in great gulps of air, both hands tight on the steering wheel, the wipers still whipping back and forth as rain sheeted down on them.

Rand held trembling hands out in front of him, the bandages starting to look reddened at the fingertips beneath tape and gauze.

Slowly, Mat unclenched one of his hands and reached for Rand’s. He gently wrapped his shaking hand around Rand’s, mindful of his hurt fingers, and just let it rest in Rand’s own.

The sound of their breathing filled the car. Outside, the rain poured down. Rand’s hand trembled along with Mat’s.

“Is this real?” Rand whispered, staring at Mat’s hand. Bloody ashes, but he sounded _terrified_. “Are you really here?”

Throat thick, Mat nodded his head.

“Yeah, Rand,” he said, finally. “I’m right here.”

“Oh,” said Rand, in childlike realization.

A moment later, he started to sob.

Mat undid his seat belt and climbed over the gear shift, right into Rand’s lap. Rand wrapped his arms around him, holding on and gripping bloodied fingers in Mat’s shirt, his face now the one pressed to Mat’s chest, mouth open and spilling broken sounds of relief and pain in equal measure.

As best he knew how, Mat soothed Rand, talking to him, stroking his arms and kissing the short-cropped curls on his head. Mat tangled himself up in his friend, in his clothes, his hair, his damaged body, and frayed emotions. Mat held Rand while he wept, choking out half coherent words and phrases that would haunt Mat later, he knew.

This was what had been missing—the _grief_. Grief and more that Rand had no doubt tried to leave behind him in the Blight. _Bloody fool._

When you lost something, you always gained in equal measure. The mind despised a hole unfilled, and Mat should know; he’d tried to leave things behind, too, and they’d stalked him like a gholam in the shadows.

Now though, in his arms, Mat had all of Rand; all the pieces, old and new. Ill-fitting though they might be, they were all of them _real_.

Rand was back. Broken and bloodied, but he was _back_ , and so Mat held him close, and let him cry.

In the rain on a bridge over the Taren, Rand al’Thor finally came home from war.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Edgedancer, ofthebrownajah, and others for spitballing this AU with me! It is our beautiful trashchild and I love it already.
> 
> Want to get in on the fun? Join the [Wheel of Time Trash discord](https://discord.gg/XUvCR2z) for shipping, fic, prompts, headcanons, smut, kinks, and general flailing about this stupid series that we all love for some reason.


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